


high school nice-guy

by craftingdead



Series: ooh tee pee oneshots challenge 2k19 please help me god [1]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Crush, M/M, hi my name is ak and i have a basketball game tomorrow, if ur wondering about the random ass ship im explaining in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 21:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: If there was one thing AK hated, it was being beaten at his own strength: basketball.





	high school nice-guy

**Author's Note:**

> hello! if you or a loved one have been diagnosed with "making a shipping chart/survey and then deciding to make a one-shot for every ship selected in the responses," we're here to help. we'll transfer it to charlie instead!
> 
> next is ak/ghetto/nick and i've learned some WILD fuckin' things about my friends with this
> 
> (ak/ghetto - 1 point. not that popular)

AK slammed his hand on the desk. “You know what? I’m done. I’m finished with him. There’s no going back now. If I don’t end this soon, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

“He beat you at basketball. He’s in the same grade as you. What’s so bad at that? You’ve had people beat you before?” Shark said.

“Yeah, but”—AK waved his hand around—”I’ve never had someone who continued to beat me game after game. It isn’t cool. People usually don’t care in normal gym, I’m the only one who plays hard; I should be the only one winning. He’s also ungodly tall, which is another factor that should be counted in. I, personally, think anyone over six-foot shouldn’t be allowed to play with anyone shorter. It discourages and can hurt shorter people’s mentality severely and make them believe they’re inferior to tall people. It’s rude and disgusting.”

Shark snorted, inhaling a piece of his sandwich into his throat and then coughing violently on it, face going purple for a few seconds before he got it out onto the table. AK continued talking the entire time, not once looking over to his friend, who could’ve just choked and died on a piece of turkey.

“It’s not that serious,” Uni said.

“It is that serious. It’s a fucking disgrace,” AK argued back.

“Are you sure you’re not just being like, homophobic.”

“Ghetto being gay shouldn’t contribute to whether or not he’s good at basketball! If it would, I would be having a very hefty conversation with the science teacher on how that is, but I still wouldn’t blame him. Maybe, I could ask the gym teacher if there was a reason he was always pitted against me, but other than that? It’s not my place. But if he wants to be heterophobic, I will be taking action.”

“Oh my god, heterophobic,” Shark whispered in a strained voice.

Cory, who was sitting at the table across from them because he hated to be seen with AK and Shark, turned around and asked, in a confused voice, “Wait, Ghetto’s gay? I didn’t know that about him. When did he say it? Never really thought about it before, that’s weird—you’re like, sure he’s gay?”

“Jesus Christ.” Uni groaned in annoyance and buried his head in his hands.

“He says it every day?”

“Shark, you’re the only one of us who hangs out with him. Of course he’s gay, he’s totally dating that junior he’s always hanging out with,” AK said. It was really quite annoying that they didn’t know this stuff. Like, did they ever listen to Ghetto? He was an interesting dude. 

“Wait, he’s dating someone?”

“AK, they’re  _ not  _ dating—”

He pointed over to where they were sitting. There was always a small crowd around their table—Shark sometimes included in a mess. Ghetto sat there, as always, day after day; he was tall (as AK described before, come on, listen better), Black, had dark hair and eyes, with a faint but prominent line of stubble across his face. He was wearing an unzipped dark green jacket (AK was pretty sure it was bomber, maybe not) over a light gray hoodie and dark blue jeans. For anything else he said about Ghetto, AK had to admit he was pretty stylish.

Especially compared to the tee-shirts, cargo shorts, and vests that the rest of them at his shitty little table donned every day. Not even in winter could you see him without a tank top. He once got his tooth knocked out for calling it a “wife beater.” That person was one of Ghetto’s friends, Jess, who threw a ball at his face super-super hard because of it.

Next to him sat the junior he was infamously rumored to be dating: Nick. Dark brown hair, light brown skin, and usually in some combination of gray-and-red (and green on occasions). Right now he was wearing a gray sweater, black either leggings or skinny jeans, and a bright red scarf. It was April. 

He also had heterochromia, which the science teacher loved pointing out whenever they ended up talking about genes. It was almost as infuriating as Ghetto and basketball. His two number one enemies: Nick and science, and Ghetto and basketball.

Bastards.

“Fuckin’ snobs. They look like they have rich kid syndrome. Don’t they know that everything doesn’t revolve around them?” AK stated. Stated because it was a fact and not because he was jealous they got more attention than him.   
  
“Nick barely lives off the money his dad makes him. AK, I think  _ you  _ have rich kid syndrome,” Shark said, bored, chewing on his sandwich again.

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t.”

“Hey,” Cory said, “maybe we could help you out after school? So you can finally do the impossible and beat Ghetto.”

At the last syllable of his name, Ghetto turned to look at them. The other kids at his table were still talking away and didn’t notice his movement—except for Nick, who looked at him questioningly before twisting around in his seat as well.

“Shit!” AK hissed. “Pretend like you weren’t looking at them.”

“AK, you were the only one of us looking at them,” Shark complained, still eating his sandwich dreadfully slowly.

Ghetto looked at them all in turn—especially Shark, whom he gave a cheeky grin too—before landing on AK. Then, like an absolute, stylish bastard, he smirked and, if you could believe it, winked at him! He winked at him before turning around and answering something his friend said. Nick looked very confused.

AK slammed his hands on his desk (for the third time), pushed his tray back and got up, much to many people at his table’s annoyance (and Cory’s water bottle, which got hit and pushed over by his tray). “Where are you going?” Shark called out with a mouthful of food.   


“I’m going to practice in the gym. I am going to beat him and I am going to do it tomorrow, break his reign of rule over this fucking class.”

“Our basketball unit literally lasts three more days!”

He ignored Shark, and continued on, past Ghetto’s table, and out of the cafeteria. His stomach kept fluttering and twisting and turning and his face was extremely red. Maybe he was getting sick. Maybe this whole situation with Ghetto and basketball was making him legitimately sick. AK remembered the wink, and his face burned even more.

He should probably check in with the nurse.


End file.
